


Lighthouse

by yashkonu



Category: RWBY
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-11
Updated: 2016-03-11
Packaged: 2018-05-26 03:14:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6221347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yashkonu/pseuds/yashkonu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Xiao-Long household is a quiet place, for now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lighthouse

It began like this: quiet, then loud, then quiet once more.

A quiet “no.” The quirk of Cinder’s brow, the press of her lips into a harsh line was already more mercy than most would have been afforded.

Then came the noise; roaring flame, shattering glass, a crash and rush of frigid water.

Silence came with the creeping cold in Emerald’s limbs, and her vision faded in a swirl of red and black.

* * *

Taiyang Xiao-Long was, despite the impression many took of him, a creature of habit. Never deliberately so, but often, without quite noticing it had happened, he would find himself in a comfortable rhythm and disinclined to change it.

There was a trace of coping in it, he knew. Years ago, when heartbreak upon heartbreak had left him broken and reeling, habit had been solace of a sort. Summer was buried and Raven was gone and Qrow was gone too, in every way that mattered -- but on Saturday mornings he bought produce at the local farmer’s market. It was happening again, a new tide bringing old waves to his doorstep.

This time, he would be a better port in the storm.

Taiyang woke just before his alarm went off at six. He rose, stretched, silently checked on Yang -- who was sleeping soundly, good -- and set out in the shallow snow for his morning jog. Just after seven he slipped back through the door and out of his boots, checked on Yang -- still asleep, _good_ \-- and set about breakfast.

Cooking helped, too. He had long been his team’s unofficial chef, but even in the hard years he found comfort in the activity. The strain melted away for a time, for as long as the melody of chop and fry and boil and stir played on.

At eight he brought Yang breakfast, sausage and hash browns and eggs (sunny side up, naturally) with a glass of the orange juice he’d picked up last Saturday. She’d only eat about half of it, but that was okay.

He had just settled into his spot at the end of the couch with his scroll and a plate of his own when a soft thump sounded from outside. Moments later, the doorbell rang. He opened the door just in time to watch a lone crow wheel off into the sky.

_Only ever the back of you, huh? That’s all you ever let me see._

Taiyang heaved a sigh that caught in his throat when he glanced down.

By nine A.M. the girl she’d left on his doorstep was bandaged and tucked neatly in bed in the guest room. A bit of first-aid and a lot of aura had seen to the injuries Raven hadn’t deigned to heal -- shards of glass in her arms and deep punctures on her back and the _burns_ \-- but the girl was still in poor shape. There was a gauntness to her face, a weariness in the lines under her eyes that didn’t belong on a girl who couldn’t be much older than Yang. Nothing on her but a thin wad of lien bound by a rubber band, no trace of identification. Nothing to do but wait for her to wake.

Only once he was sure the mystery girl was settled as comfortably as possible did Taiyang return to his neglected breakfast. On the way he stopped to collect Yang’s half-cleared plate. Awake or asleep, she didn’t react.

When she was ready, he’d be there. This time, he’d be there.

**Author's Note:**

> There's rather a bit more to this story, so it may be continued at some point. Thanks to Saraiguma for helping to develop it!


End file.
